


Night Ferry

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Femslash, Genderswap, Male!Mrs. Hudson - Freeform, POV John, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vibrators, sex toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fem!Lock and Fem!John have sex on a train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John makes a deduction

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John are in a private, first class compartment on a (fictional) overnight sleeper train to Paris, similar to the now defunct [Night Ferry](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_Ferry/).

The ticket collector shut the compartment door quietly behind her as she left.

John leaned back and opened one of the paperback novels that Lestrade had lent her while she was in hospital. 

Sherlock removed her coat and hung it on a hook. She settled into the seat across from John. She picked up a newspaper on the pile beside her and scanned the headlines, then put it back, and took out her mobile phone.

John looked at her. Sherlock was wearing a [new dress ](http://www.hm.com/us/product/22163?article=22163-A&cm_mmc=pla-_-us-_-ladies_dresses_short-_-22163&gclid=CIfy6PTuubwCFTHNOgodsUEA5A/%20), one that was—even to John’s unsophisticated eye—of a strikingly _unflattering_ shade of brown-green. It gave her creamy skin a bilious tone.

_Sherlock Holmes did not wear unflattering colours._

Maybe it was a disguise for the upcoming case. But they hadn’t really started working on the case yet. John racked her mind as to the possibilities. It was a shirt dress, with buttons up the front, pockets at the chest and a drawstring waist. _What was she?_ John imagined some kind of old Hollywood version of a lady prison warden. She had understood that the case was about stolen jewelry and couldn’t fathom the connection. Sherlock was paying her no mind.

John looked again, a little more carefully. John realized, to her surprise, the dress was _cheap_. 

The fabric was some kind of synthetic blend and thin, almost threadbare, though brand new. Even from a distance, John could tell the stitching was of poor quality, with the bottom hem and one cuff frayed. It couldn’t have cost her more than £15. John _hoped_ it hadn’t cost her more than £15 after what she must have spent on these fancy train tickets.

_Sherlock Holmes did not wear cheap clothes._

She treated her very expensive clothes as if they were tat; of that, she and John had had more than one argument, but… _oh, Jesus Christ_.

John sprang like a lion. She grabbed each side of the dress at Sherlock’s knees and tore the garment apart from bottom to top. It made a satisfying symphony of ripping threads and tinkling buttons flung to all corners of the compartment. John bolted upwards, dragging a flat tongue over Sherlock’s naked body as she moved. Sherlock shivered and groaned.

“How slow was I?” John asked right before biting hard at the juncture of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder.

“Eighteen seconds quicker than anticipated, actually,” chuckled Sherlock. “I thought you’d at least read a paragraph before…”

“ _Agatha Poppyseed Unravels a Sticky Bun_ can’t hold a candle to the mystery of why Sherlock Holmes is wearing an unflattering, cheap dress,” joked John as she kissed and nosed behind Sherlock’s ear, nipping the lobe with her teeth. 

“It’s been ages, John. _Fuck me_ ,” pleaded Sherlock.

“Gladly.”


	2. Sherlock blushes

John pulled the torn sides of Sherlock’s dress further apart, exposing the canvas of her nude body. She straddled her lover and cupped Sherlock’s breasts, feeling their weight and shape.

“ETA?” she asked. 

“One hour, twenty-three minutes,” purred Sherlock. She arched into John’s hands as John rubbed her nipples with her thumbs. John watched the dusky tissue darken and harden beneath her caresses. 

“Plenty of time to thoroughly ravish you.”

“Hmmm. John, the window shade is still up.”

“I intend to stay fully-clothed for this little encounter,” replied John. “And if you wanted it drawn, it would have been before we started.” Sherlock tilted her head back and threw a satisfied smile at the ceiling of the compartment. 

Sherlock arched higher and John bent down, bathing one breast with her tongue. “These beauties need some attention,” John said before she suckled gently. Sherlock hummed appreciatively, cradling John’s head in her hands. “I should have asked Mr. Hudson to include them with the dusting on Thursday,” John joked. 

“Mr. Hudson does the lino on Thursdays,” Sherlock corrected then sucked in a sharp breath as teeth grazed a nipple. 

“ _I_ do the lino on Thursdays.” John bit the nipple not-so-gently, and Sherlock squeaked.

John made love to each breast in turn, fondling and licking and nibbling until Sherlock was writhing impatiently. John trailed her hands up and pushed Sherlock’s head slightly forward. She started kneading Sherlock’s scalp and down the base of her head and her neck to her shoulders, slipping her hands beneath the dress that was still anchored on Sherlock’s arms. Strong fingers sought out knots and strain, massaging them away. Sherlock leaned her body into John, and John moved her hands to Sherlock’s lower back, pressing and rubbing. 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Sherlock groaned. John felt the consulting detective gradually relax and slump. 

“So much tension, love,” said John. Sherlock’s face was in John’s neck. John brushed one hand between Sherlock’s legs; Sherlock whimpered. “Already so wet? Oh, _love_. What were you going to do in Paris without your army doctor?” she teased. 

And it really was a testament to John’s skill as a masseuse that Sherlock had a supremely unguarded moment and let words tumble out unfiltered.

“Indeed. I bought something, just in case,” she snorted amusedly, “but I guess I’m not going to…” 

“Wait, what?” John stopped short and rested her hands on her own hips.

“ _Oh, John_ ,” moaned Sherlock. “ _That’s so good. Don’t stop!_ ”

“Nice try. I’m not touching you, Sherlock. You’re shite at that, by the way. You _bought something_?” 

John kept her expression neutral, her standard Good-Doctor-Listening face, but she secretly marveled as the flush of Sherlock’s arousal transformed into… _nervousness_. Sherlock being nervous happened as often as Halley’s comet; it was far more extraordinary—and _interesting_ , to use a Sherlockian term—than her buying a sex toy. John couldn’t resist.

“You bought a sex toy because… _your invalid sidekick would be too incapacitated to fuck you properly_? Or you just miss cock?” John worked at softening her tone, just a little. Sherlock’s blush deepened, but she countered in an even voice.

“Partner.” 

“What?”

Sherlock gave her the I-don’t-repeat-myself eye roll and huff, “Not _sidekick_. Partner. Lover, friend, even girlfriend—though we’re both a little long in the tooth to be…” 

“Not the point, Sherlock, but thank you, that’s lovely.” John smiled warmly.

“And you really think I _miss_ something I’ve never _had_ ,” added Sherlock quickly. “But in this one particular area, John, you are quite _unpredictable_. Even when I have all the variables, I can’t always calculate the probable outcome,” she stammered.

“You just predicted me within 18 seconds, Sherlock!” argued John.

“ _Now_ , yes, but that bag’s been packed. You were just out of hospital. The tubes and wires and tests and medications...” she sighed. “Not to mention the events that led up to.... I didn’t know if you’d even be _interested_. I didn’t want to pressure you or assume…” Sherlock looked up at John, and in that instant, she looked very young. John would have had to be a very different woman not to melt completely.

“This _something_ …You’ve tried it out? You like it?” whispered John gently. 

Sherlock nodded into John’s neck.

“So what if you had it and me? If I _fucked_ you with it, right here, right now?” asked John softly. She teased Sherlock’s pubic hair again, feeling it dampen. Sherlock lifted her head; her pupils were blown dark with desire. She widened her legs and moaned,

“ _Oh God, yes!_ ”


	3. The Channel fish weep

John took her time, kissing Sherlock’s breasts anew and then down her cleavage to her stomach. She swiped her tongue below Sherlock’s navel and lifted one hip to trail kisses around to her buttock and thigh. All the while, she had a hand between Sherlock’s legs, teasing and toying lightly until her fingers were soaked with Sherlock’s arousal. Sherlock squirmed impatiently. 

“Alright, let’s see this _something_ ,” said John. She searched through Sherlock’s case and took out a drawstring bag. She pulled out a bottle of lubricant and a dark blue vibrator. John studied the vibrator, twisting the base and noting the different vibrations. The device warmed as she tested it. When John turned back to Sherlock, the detective looked uneasy. John smiled at her and nodded minutely. John felt Sherlock relax as she settled on her knees between Sherlock’s legs and put the vibrator and lubricant beside her. 

John rose slightly and nuzzled at Sherlock’s lower belly.

“I’m glad it’s not one of those rabbit varieties.” 

“Hmm?” asked Sherlock huskily, carding her fingers through John’s hair.

“Because playing with this clit? That’s my gig.” 

Like lightening, John pushed Sherlock’s pubic hair aside and roughly kissed her clit. Sherlock gave a shout and arched sharply, nearly toppling both of them. John settled into softer, more indirect licks and the gentlest of sucking. Sherlock moaned. 

John pulled off Sherlock and put lubricant on the vibrator. She circled the exterior of Sherlock’s cunt with the tip of the vibrator. She turned the device on its lowest setting and circled again. 

“Oh, oh, OH,” cried Sherlock. If Sherlock had had half of her razor sharp faculties at this point, she would have noted that the expression on John’s face was much more doctor than lover when John pushed the head of the vibrator into her. John searched Sherlock’s face for signs of anything other than pleasure. John held the device still and leaned over to nuzzle again at Sherlock’s belly. 

“Okay?” she asked.

“For fuck’s sake, John!” Sherlock countered frustratedly, “I’m not made of glass!”

In that second, John turned from Good Doctor to _Army_ Doctor.

“ _Sherlock! Holmes!_ ” barked John. She thrust the vibrator further into Sherlock, eliciting a grunt in response.

“ _I am inserting a foreign object_ …” Thrust. Grunt.

“… _that happens to have batteries inside it_ …” 

“… _into your vaginal canal_.” Thrust. Grunt.

“ _I will go_ …” 

“… _as slow_ …

“… _and as careful_ …” Thrust. Howl.

“… _as I damn well please!_ ” John’s commanding voice drove Sherlock to beg. She whimpered and mewled and clasp her legs around the device and John’s hand. 

“Please, John. _Please_.” John increased the speed and watched Sherlock’s face contort with desire.

“I need you, John,” cried Sherlock. Her skin was bathed in sweat. 

“I’m here, love,” answered John and she leaned up to kiss her. Sherlock pushed down hard and screamed. After a few seconds, she dropped her head on John’s shoulder. John turned off the vibrator and withdrew it slowly; then she slid beside her lover, pushing Sherlock’s damp hair off her forehead. Sherlock was still panting, but wrapped her arms around John possessively. 

“You gave the Channel fish quite the show,” teased John. 

“John. We are well beyond the Channel at this point,” replied Sherlock. She took a deep breath and then put her finger under John’s chin, tilting her face up. John watched as Sherlock grazed her eyes over John’s body. True to her earlier words, John was still fully-clothed.

John shook her head. Sherlock wrapped her arms tighter around John, and they both gazed out the window for a while.


	4. The ladies read

Making up a berth was too much trouble, and the seats were not conducive to the post-coital sprawling that the pair favoured, so John made a nest of blankets and pillows for them on the floor of the compartment. Sherlock leaned against the wall beneath the window, stretching her legs. She was nude, having finally completely divested herself of the foul dress. Her knees crossed over John’s thighs.

Sherlock was reading a French newspaper; John was reading Sherlock. John read every freckle and mole that dotted the creamy skin of Sherlock’s legs. Fingertips brushed downy hair and traced veins and ligaments and scars. She searched for pulses behind knees and ankles and on the tops of feet. She noted the length of toenails and the calluses on heels. The touch was affectionate, curious, searching.

Sherlock ruffled newspaper pages. If John had had x-ray vision, she could have seen through the newspaper and been surprised that Sherlock had long since finished reading anything of importance, and now was contentedly sitting with eyes closed and silly grin, reveling in her lover’s attention.

But very soon an announcement came that the train was approaching Paris. They both stood up and began to prepare.

As Sherlock pulled a grey cashmere jumper over her head, John gave a look around the compartment.

“So, overnight sleeper train to Paris?” she said dryly, “It has its merits.”

Sherlock popped her head out of the jumper, raised one eyebrow, and replied with a smirk.

“Quite.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Paris series is set between [ Impaired Judgment ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1124308/chapters/2266160/) and [ Morning Dress ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1125896/chapters/2269971/). Plans include a casefic and two PWPs. [ Masquerade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1141813/chapters/2310291/) also takes place during the Paris case.


End file.
